Avery wanted to explain that she yearned to stand at his shoulder as a true Luna, a partner whose presence strengthened the Montgomery lineage. But the jagged scars on her throat were a silent cage. In a world where the Alpha’s mate was expected to command with a howl, she was a broken instrument. She could never lead the high-rank ceremonies or chant the ancestral blood-hymns.

She didn't push him. She simply lowered her gaze, the midnight-blue silk of her gown shivering.

Hudson led her into the Great Hall of the Silver Ridge. The air was thick with the scent of roasted stag, aged ale, and the heavy, musk-laden pheromones...